Grey Zone
by Razgriz Ace
Summary: One agency knows she's a traitor, the other thinks she is. Syd's on the run and Vaughn's right behind her.
1. As It Is

**Grey Zone**

A/N: This is going to be a long term project. This is a rewrite of the first fic I ever wrote which was -as many first time work's are- a complete mess. I'm going to spend the next few months pulling out the good bits and turning them into something worthy of presenting to you fine people. Also, now that I live in LA I won't butcher the city's geography like the first draft did. If you are curious and want to read the hot mess original it's archived over at the SD-1 boards. My handle over there is Ace of Dyamonds.

Hope you guys like it.

Disclaimer: I can only pretend to own them. Alas, they belong to ABC. Sue me not. I have no cash.

* * *

**Chapter One: As It Is**

Michael Vaughn sat at his desk, index and forefinger kneading his temples in an attempt to push the pain from his head. He'd spent the past three days in a debriefing with Jack Bristow and somehow he still couldn't grasp what his superiors were telling him.

Sydney was gone.

It hadn't happened how he had imagined it in his nightmares. She hadn't gone down in a blaze of patriotic glory. No, in fact Sydney was very much alive. A traitor. A triple the whole time.

Vaughn sat his elbows on his desk and pushed his palms hard into his forehead desperately trying to relieve the pressure. He has so many questions running through his head. How could he have been so wrong about her? How could she never falter in her performance? Had she faltered? Had he ignored it? Was he too wrapped up in the job to notice? Was he too wrapped up in her to notice? He still couldn't get around everything. Devlin had called him into his office three days ago and his whole life had been turned upside down.

_"Agent Vaughn will you please take a seat?" Devlin asked him a little more distant and firm than Vaughn was used to hearing from him._

_"Has Agent Bristow made contact with you in the past 72 hours?"_

_"No sir. I haven't received anything since we retrieved the gyroscope."_

_"That's what I was afraid of," Devlin replied grimly._

_"Wait. What is this about?" Vaughn questioned._

_"Son, you had better come with me_."

Vaughn couldn't deny what he had seen after that conversation. There were two videos. The first had shown her doing a crossword puzzle at table in the food court of the Burbank mall. Vaughn had not thought anything about the video was unusual until the end of the clip. Sydney had been sitting with her back to the security monitor and Arvin Sloane came to occupy the seat across from her. The two talked for a few minutes before Sydney reached into her purse and handed him a small red cell phone. Her CIA phone. Then Sloane handed her a different envelope, which they had assumed were orders of some kind, because shortly after Sloane got up and walked away. A few minutes later Sydney stood up and tucking the newspaper under her arm walked in the opposite direction.

The next tape was the more damning of the two. It left very little to be interpreted. It was a security tape from a CIA testing lab where Sydney had stolen the Rambaldi manuscript. Her timing or those helping her had been off by a matter of seconds because the camera went dead just immediately after capturing her face.

After three days of questioning and little sleep Vaughn found himself uselessly pinned between logic and faith. This was the woman who had cried on his shoulder, trusted him with her life, and had risked her own to save him on more than one occasion. Yet, the evidence seemed irrefutable, and his superiors reminded him of every past action of Sydney's that could be deemed questionable: Badenweiler, her rogue op to Taipei, and of course the page 47 prophecy. Yet at the end of the day he refused to believe he could be so fundamentally wrong about someone. The past year and a half with Sydney had taught him two things.

Trust his instincts and damn protocol to hell.

* * *

Sydney Bristow woke with a start, her head pounding. She was handcuffed to a large wooden chair and in a bare concrete room with no windows.

Sydney groaned, half from the memory of the afternoon before and half from the ache in her head. Sloane had figured out her secret. She had been shopping at her favorite used book store when she had been paged to the front desk. The annoyed cashier had given her an envelope someone had dropped off for her and huffed that the place was not a post office. Always dubious of strange communications Sydney had immediately torn the letter open, and in the process set life altering events irreversibly in motion.

The message was from Sloane, who wanted her to meet him in the food court. It was also very clear that if she spoke to anyone between that moment and the meeting Michael Vaughn would be on the wrong end of a Sniper's bullet. Not seeing a way out she had complied, handing over her phone and following his directions to leave. She had been snatched up by the security section team in a lower parking deck. The next day she had gone ahead and stolen the Rambaldi manuscript for them.

She had no doubt the CIA now thought her to be a traitor. She had made sure that she got into the CIA compound just seconds before the security feed was cut. If the CIA thought she was a triple, then Vaughn would undoubtedly be sent through the ringer to make sure he had had nothing to do with it. It would mean that Vaughn would be safe for at least the next two days, maybe longer. She wasn't sure what would happen to her father. She had no way of knowing if his cover had been blown too. She had other things at hand.

After she'd returned from the compound with the artifact she had been knocked out. She had woken up in this room, and now she needed to focus on a way out. She was fairly certain Vaughn was safe now, and she'd be damned if Sloane used her again. It was time to think about her life now. Or what was left of it anyway.

As her vision refocused Sydney took a better look at her surroundings to size up her situation. Each arm was separately cuffed to the wooden chair where she sat. The only access to the room was from a large metal door. She could literally be anywhere. It didn't feel as if she had been out that long, but there was no way to be certain. She decided to go a step at a time. She had to get out of the room first. Then she would figure out how to get out of the building. Tossing her head back in frustration her eyes fell upon the best thing she had ever seen. A large steel air duct.

She went to work quickly. Tipping forward so she could walk Sydney shuffled up to the room's corner. Then holding the base of the chair firmly and leaning to the left she threw herself back against the wall sharply. This action earned her the satisfying crack she had hoped for. She had almost cleanly broken of the chair's back. Her hands now free Sydney placed the bottom half of the chair under the vent and proceeded to sit down and take off her shoe. Removing the laces from the shoe she tightly wound it around two of the wooden pieces broken off of the chair. She stood on the bottom half of the chair and then used the wood to loosen and unscrew the bolts on the vent's screen. She pocketed her impromptu screw driver, tucked the handcuff ends into the sleeves of her sweater and climbed swiftly into the duct. She slid carefully through, watching the rooms change beneath her. The guard station outside her room seemed to be engrossed by a game of snake on his cell phone. The noise of her escape had clearly not penetrated the large metal door.

After only a half hour of wrong turns and dead ends Syd had found her way to the street level. Since she couldn't unscrew the bolts from the inside she spent a good fifteen minutes kicking the screen out silently praying that sound would be on her side for a second time that day. Two very sore heels and several curse words later she was rewarded when the screen snapped and fell to the street with a clatter. She ran.

She couldn't call for extraction without proof that she had been coerced unless she wanted a nice glass cell next to her mother and she was sure Sloane had put a nice little spin on her "betrayal" which meant Dixon was out as well. Her father, Will and Francie were probably all under surveillance and thus also out of question. The best she could do now was lay low and give Vaughn time to find the bread crumbs she had left him. She had no money, was unarmed, and hadn't the slightest idea what part of town she was in then. Escaping had been the easy part, but now she needed safe place to spend the night. The past 24 hours had left her both physically and mentally exhausted and the pounding in her head had yet to subside.

She would try to figure things out in the morning, but for now all she needed to do was stay alive that long.


	2. Engage

A/N: I'll dedicate this chapter to the two lovely reviewers I had in the hopes of bribing them to leave more comments. :-)

* * *

After some exploration, Sydney discovered she was still in Los Angeles, the warehouse district to be precise. She knew she had to get off the streets to rest so she ran until it seemed like her legs were working independently of the rest of her. Winding through alleys and empty streets she eventually got to a more populated neighborhood. Soon after she came upon a block that had hotels and motels every few yards, and knew she had to be careful with her choice. Having no money meant that she would be breaking into a vacant room. The trick was to find the place with the lowest chance of having a new patron for the night that might get assigned to the room where she resided. The Millennium Inn, seemed ideal. Its crooked and stained awning and broken neon sign looked as uninviting as possible.

Peeking into a room in the back of the ground floor of the complex she found it empty. Using her makeshift wrench she pulled a few bolts off the window and climbed inside. The room was musty and poorly lit with a faded old orange shag rug. The old brown and avocado green end table suggested the furniture predated it being name the "Millennium Inn". But Syd's attention fell immediately to the bed where she strode and collapsed onto it in complete exhaustion.

* * *

The following morning Vaughn knew there were only three people he could trust with his doubts and they weren't practical options at that moment. Jack was still under suspicion and thus still in custody. Weiss didn't want to hear the name Sydney Bristow ever again, and Will was currently in a safe house under twenty-four seven observation. That meant that Michael had to sort this out by himself.

He had requested copies of the security tapes on grounds of aiding the investigation and he asked for a few personal days to sort himself out. Kendall and Devlin would have his head on a pike if they knew what he was really up too.

It wasn't until the eighth time watching the video that he noticed it. In the beginning of the video Sydney was doing a crossword puzzle. What was unusual was that Sydney was writing with her left hand. He simply hadn't noticed before. No one had. It was such a little detail that he had disregarded it.

But now given the stakes and circumstance it seemed significant. During their time in the warehouse he and Sydney had to make small talk with what little they truly knew about one another. On a few occasions she had teased him about being left handed, saying that his short comings probably came from the trauma of trying to figure out scissors as a kid. It was an inside joke, and the video was enough to fill him with the hope that she was innocent, followed by the dread that she was in the worst kind of danger. He grabbed his coat and left at once for the Burbank mall.

He made it to the mall in record time. He found her table in the food court and had never in his life been so happy to see graffiti. It was something others would disregard as a vandals work, but the wonderfully clever woman was leaving him bread crumbs. Scrawled nearly illegibly across the edge of the table was:

_Tolstoy Long_

* * *

In the morning Sydney waited until she heard the couple in the next room leave for breakfast.

She watched them retreat to the street and then slipped into their room. Her eyes fell directly upon the couple's luggage. The woman's clothes were a little big, but Sydney found and unassuming navy blue hoodie and a pair of black slacks that fit well enough. She made her way through the room and also took with her a small draw string gym bag, a pair of oversized sunglasses, a swiss army knife, a first aid kit, and about $47 in small bills. Before she left she zipped up the bags she'd opened to try and make her presence as undetectable as possible.

Slipping back into her room Sydney set to work. After a quick shower she opened up the first aid kit. Pulling out a bottle of peroxide and a pair of scissors she started on her hair. An hour later she found the short blonde cut looked terrible on her, but it passed as presentable. To her satisfaction it was also fairly inconspicuous. It was better than Bozo red in any case. She also managed to pop the dangling handcuffs off her wrists by picking the lock with the screw driver on the army knife.

Her "op-tech" now consisted of a draw string bag, a pocket knife, some medical tape, and two pairs of handcuffs, and a homemade wrench. Not the most promising set of supplies, but if there was one thing she was good at it was improvising. Checking to make no other patrons were in sight Sydney left her room and walked briskly away, leaving the motel behind her.

She had the sick feeling that Sloane was personally after her. His actions had given her the notion that he wasn't working for SD-6 anymore. Laying low wouldn't cut it, she needed to disappear.

At the moment she had two options. The first of which was to simply try to find a way out of the country, which would obviously be the safest choice. It wouldn't be overly difficult to get into Mexico and from there she could go anywhere she wanted. But leaving would also mean giving up. It would mean that Sloane would be left to play whatever game he wanted and that the Alliance would be left to thrive. It would mean that the last two years had been for nothing; that Danny had died in vain.

But the notion that she couldn't live with was never seeing Vaughn again. It was similar to the choice her father gave her when she became a double agent. Fight or Flight. And she'd make the same choice. She would stay and fight until either she was dead or she had Arvin Sloane's head to mount on her wall. She refused to live the rest of her life as Kate Jones or Victoria King or one of the hundreds of other people she'd been forced into being. She'd have to fight.

Sydney Bristow was no coward.

* * *

Vaughn tore into the mall's only used book store and practically pounced on the poor teenage clerk in order to find the Russian Literature section. Swallowing his anxiety, he stared at the numerous copies of the numerous Tolstoy novels and tried to figure where to start. He flipped through several and found nothing. He was beginning to think he had misinterpreted her clues when an idea struck.

"She needed it to still be here," he said to himself. "Which would no one want?" He looked to the bottom shelf and saw a badly battered copy of _War and Peace_, sitting upside down on the shelf.

He pulled it out and flipped open the torn up cover. There were two messages written in the margin of the first page.

The first read:

_Personnal Ads_

And the second said:  
_Because you know me better_.

For the first time in three days Michael Vaughn smiled.


	3. Chase

A/N: Terribly sorry this is so slow going. What started as a project to clean up an old stoy has morphed into straight up rewriting it. I didn't realize what an aweful writer I was when I started college so a lot of the original chapters have been cut, and what was left is completely redone. I promise it will get finished eventually though.

* * *

There was certainly a hint of irony in Jack Bristow residing in a CIA cell next to Irina Derevko, but Vaughn had little time for reflection on the matter. He was still technically on leave so he had to make his visit as brief as possible. Jack had plans in place for a rainy day. It was currently storming like a bitch.

Jack sat on his cot, arms folded, looking more intimidating than he ever had as a free man. Vaughn watched Jack's eyes follow him as he approached. Pulling a pen from his pocket Vaughn tapped it against the glass, then clicked it.

"Signal disrupter. We have ninety seconds. I'll be brief. Sydney's going to make contact. I'm going after her, and could use any assets you have in place."

Jack looked Vaughn over, giving Vaughn the uncomfortable impression that he was once again being sized up.

"Even if you find her, it's not over with Sloane. Sydney will want to strike back. Want to clear her name. Are you willing follow my daughter into that lion's den?" Jack asked, his expression stony as ever.

"A minute left and you're going to spend it patronizing me?" Vaughn shot back in a huff. "You and I both know the answer to that.

Jack seemed satisfied with this response, "Then Listen carefully. My desk has a false bottom to the right hand drawer. In there you will find a key to a storage space in Glendale. Get there and open locker 447. It's equipped with everything you'll need for both of you to disappear."

"What about you?" Vaughn asked.

"That's neither here nor there. Take the yellow sat-phone with you from the locker. If I can get out of here I'll contact you."

Vaughn nodded and his pen beeped. He unclicked it and tucked it in his pocket.

"I had better get going."

"Good luck."

It was only two words, but Vaughn knew he had never been on the receiving end of that particular tone from Jack Bristow. It sounded a lot like respect.

* * *

It was eventually on craigslist that he found the advertisement. After buying up every variety of newspaper on the stand, scanning all the personals, and coming up empty he had turned his attention to the internet. The subject line of the post said it all.

Bozo seeks Boyscout

He clicked on it.

_Must enjoy: Late night walks on the pier, spontaneous trips to Italy, and mini-golf. _

_Bozo will see you at 9pm tonight._

_West Sunset Blvd. _

_Sorry wrong number._

Vaughn very nearly laughed. Damn. She was good.

* * *

As the clocked ticked closer to nine Sydney began to grow anxious. Her vague and messy plan really hinged on Vaughn's support. She had not really considered what she would do if he didn't show up. She had to force down the thought that maybe she had finally asked too much of him.

There were only two Joey's Pizza in Los Angeles, and only one on Sunset Blvd. Sydney sat with her back to the kitchen, her eyes on the door. It was an interesting little restaurant; one large room packed with tables and a piano crammed in front of the bar. The floor look recently mopped, but had several grease stains that were unlikely to ever come out of the wood.

It was lively too. Waiters earned extra tips by singing at the piano and passing around a glass pitcher to put cash in. They were doing pretty well for themselves too. Nearly every table was occupied and the patrons –who ranged from a company baseball team knocking back cheap beer at the bar to an impeccably dressed businessman on what appeared to be a very awkward date – seemed in the mood to be generous.

Sydney took a long drink from her Diet Coke hoping the caffeine would stem her on setting fatigue. Hungry as she was she would need the small bills in her bag in the scenario where Vaughn didn't show. She kept her eye on the door, intent to leave with him as soon as he arrived.

Her brain began swimming in a pool of worse case scenarios, and attempting to plan for each. The thoughts left her so out of touch with her surroundings that she didn't notice that the next man who came out of the kitchen was no waiter. That is, not until she felt the gun barrel pressed into the small of her back.

"Agent Bristow. I must say you aren't looking well. No, not at all," Syd's stomach fell as she heard the familiar British accent.

"Sark."

He took a seat next to her, the small pistol in his hand running along her back until it was firmly pressed against her hip. She did her very best impression of her father. Cold. Stoic. Sark looked amused. He was well dressed and pressed as usual.

"I must confess I am impressed with the ingenuity of your escape."

"Go to hell."

Sark smiled, his enjoyment evident. "I have no doubt I will."

"You won't shoot me. You wouldn't have bothered to find me if Sloane didn't need me alive."

"Very astute, but I assure you that whoever you were going to meet here is none of Arvin's concern. No is their safety."

"Easy. Let's go," she put her palms out to him in an attempt to show she wasn't up to anything. She had seen the kind of carnage Sark could bring about if he didn't get his way.

"Smart G-"

The sound of change clanging to the floor mingled with the sound of shattering glass as Sark crumpled mid-sentence. He fell to the floor to reveal Vaughn behind him, the handle of the glass tip pitcher still in his hand.

The million things she wanted to say to Vaughn were swallowed as people stared and several more gasped and shrieked in horror at the sudden act of violence. She saw two heavy set men by the door reach into their leather jackets.

"Go!" She grabbed Vaughn's wrist and pulled him through the kitchen door before either of the goons could get a shot off.

They leapt over a counter top and knocked over one poor sous chef. A rack of freshly cleaned pots and pans tumbled to the floor in a thunder.

They were at the back door of the kitchen when Vaughn grabbed his arm, blood gushing from a spot where the bullet had sliced the skin. He turned and fired back at one of the grizzled goons. A bullet in the shoulder knocked the goon off his feet causing the second man to trip over him. For a heartbeat it seemed that they were clear. Then Sark stumbled through the kitchen door one hand on his head, the other on the gun he had pulled earlier.

Vaughn swung the back door open and Sydney followed him outside. A black Sedan sat parked a few feet away. Vaughn clicked the doors open with the key fob.

A thought hit Sydney as the doors unlocked.

"Keys!" she shouted. Vaughn threw them to her without argument.

They got into the car and peeled out of the alley way. She made a series of sharp turns, ran a few red lights and took to the highway. She checked the mirrors. No one was following them. Yet.

She tossed Vaughn her draw string bag, and did a double take at his arm.

"Is it bad?"

"Just grazed," red oozed from between his fingers as he held on to the spot. "I'll need stitches though I think." He leaned heavy against his seat and for a moment Sydney wondered if he was going to comment on how fast she was driving. The engine groaned as she pushed the accelerator farther down.

"There's some gauze in there," she gestured to the bag. Vaughn pulled out the small first aid kit and tore open a few of the gauze squares from inside. He stuck them over the wound. They soaked and turned red immediately, but kept further blood from dripping onto him.

"Thanks."

A squeal of wheels alerted them to two SUVS that had pulled up behind them.

"Shit," Syd swore. The chase was confirming the thought she had upon getting into the car. "We're being followed."

"I actually figured that out."

"No, I mean I think they're tracking me!" She swerved the car into the next lane.

"What?!"

"It's the only way they could have found me. I didn't have a tail and no one would have understood that personal ad but you. There's a pocket knife in the bag. Grab it!" She leaned over the steering wheel to get a little leverage, "They tagged me with something," she yanked her shirt over her head and off with one hand. "You need to get it out."

"Where is it?"

She shrugged and leaned back over the wheel to give him better access.

His touch was clinical as he ran it up and along her bare back. A corner of her mind couldn't help but ignore the seriousness of the situation and note that this contact was very different than what she had always anticipated it would be.

"What if it's not in your back?"

"Then we're screwed!"

His fingers settled on a spot just beneath her left shoulder blade.

"Here," he pushed on the spot just above her bra strap and something shifted beneath her skin.

"I feel it now. Get it out."

Vaughn took a deep steadying breath before flipping out the thinnest blade on the pocket knife. They were suddenly jolted forward as one of the SUVs bumped the back of the car. She cut off the car next to her, causing the driver to spin to a stop on the shoulder of the road. The move managed to put a few cars between them and the SUVs.

"Ready?"

"Do it."

She clenched her teeth together as she felt the blade slice into her back. All of her focus went into keeping her eyes on the road as the knife dug into her skin. The cold metal was replaced with Vaughn fingers as he squeezed the spot.

"Got it." With bloody fingers, Vaughn held up a translucent gel square a little larger and a little thicker than a postage stamp. He rolled down the window and chucked it on to the freeway.

Sydney's eyes went back on the rear view mirror. "They're gaining again."

Vaughn released the clip from his gun and pulled a new one from his belt. "Taking care of it." He leaned out the open window.

"Aim for the logo on the hood," she instructed.

Vaughn did as he was told and the shot sent the hood of the first SUV flipping up to obstruct the windshield. It screeched to a halt. The second SUV, however, pulled to the driver's side out of Vaughn range. He was about to climb into the back seat to shoot from the other window when Sydney put her arm out to stop him.

"Buckle up," she told him. She pulled her own seat belt on and he followed suit. She sped along the far right lane as they passed an exit. "Hold on."

She ran the car on the shoulder and pulled the emergency breaking. They came to a screaming stop and she lowered the break and through the car into reverse. The SUV went sailing ahead of them. Sydney drove backwards at top speed and spun onto the exit ramp they had passed. She forced other cars to swerve and lean on the horns, but miraculously no one hit them. The SUV attempted to follow, but a poor turning radius meant the vehicle broke right through the medium and into a ditch.

Sydney pulled onto the surface street and began weaving an intricate pattern of turns through residential areas. They could hear sirens in the distance. She kept down a poorly lit road for a while and there were no signs they were being followed. They were in the clear. Sydney drove with her knees as she slid her shirt back on, albeit inside out. They remained silent. She felt her heart beat steady out, no longer thumping heavily against her ribs. A heavy ache began settling into her shoulders, the adrenaline in her slowing down.

Finding a main road, with a little more traffic, she pulled into a coin operated car wash. All the lights were off providing them with a perfect cover of darkness. She pulled in to one of the spaces and parked. Taking the bag back from Vaughn she removed a couple of the few dollars.

She got out of the car and used one of the machines to change the bills for quarters. Vaughn sifted through a duffle bag he had had in the trunk, coming up with a couple sets of clean clothes and a proper med kit. He sat the items on top of the car, meeting her by the coin activated hose. He then pulled the near useless bandages off of his arms and discarded his bloody shirt in a nearby trash receptacle. Sydney began hosing the blood off his hands and arms. Once he was clean she handed him the hose and turned to give the same treatment to her shoulder.

After, he handed her a roll of gauze from the med kit and held out his arm. She wound it around his bicep tightly while inspecting the gash the bullet left. She would have to sew him up when they got somewhere safe, but this dressing would do for now. He place a bandge on the spot where he sliced her shoulder. When that was done they began changing into the t-shirts and jeans he provided.

When they finally, met each other's gaze. Really looking at one another for the first time in days. And then they were in each other's arms, holding on with everything they had. Sydney didn't think there were any words to express the relief she felt being with him again. She wouldn't find out until a few hours later that he was having the same thoughts. Whatever mountains lay ahead suddenly felt much more surmountable.

"Thank you," she told him, her head on his shoulder.

"Anytime," was his casual response. She pulled away from him a little, though they remained holding on to each other's forearms. "Your father has a safe house off the books. We can hold up there to rest and regroup."

She leaned over and kissed his cheek. "Thank you for saying _we_."

"We should get going."

She nodded, "Let's get out of here."

They headed back to the car. Vaughn paused right before he slid into the driver's seat.

"Syd, for the record it's been _we_ since that first meeting in the blood van."

* * *

TBC. I always read all my reviews. They get sent to my e-mail. :) So please let me know what you thought.


End file.
